


I Sh*t you not! There I was, under the maintain...

by Gothicpug



Category: Dragon Age II, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: AU, F/M, Humor, Jealousy, Post BotFA, dwarf chest hair, everyone lives!, pouty Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:51:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gothicpug/pseuds/Gothicpug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gravely wounded, Varric takes the hand of mysterious man and comes to in a town on a lake, under the shadow of a great mountain. But this place isn't Orzammar and he finds himself right at home under the mountain. That is until he begins stepping on royal toes and quickly finds that butting heads with the king under the mountain isn't wise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shuffling off one's mortal coil...or not.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything except Original Characters and the like. The rest is split between Bioware and J.R.R Tolkien. 
> 
> I'm not doing this for profit yada yada.
> 
> No beta. Its the early hours of the morning. please excuse my spelling.
> 
> As this is a crossover, you can expect this to be somewhat AU. Bear with me. It'll all come together. :D

War had raged across Thedas for nearly a year now. Many cities had burned, thousands had died and yet there was blood being shed on a daily basis.

Kirkwall had seen its fair share of fighting, the population loosing their lives by masses.

Varric had intended to leave. He intended to vacate and slink away before the war had gripped the city, but as usually, Hawke and her companions had charged into the fray. That meant the fun sized fiend was morally obligated to join in too.

Not that the dwarf minded. Hawke was his very best of friends and standing beside the champion of Kirkwall was always a pleasure. He enjoyed watching her fight. He gained great pleasure from seeing her bloody and grimy, but ultimately, victorious.

They'd fought hard and fought well but it couldn't last forever.

As the world they knew and loved came crashing down around their ears, Hawke and her friends began fall back until they were forced apart.

Some lost their lives. Other fled. Varric however, remained loyal and beside his human friend until the day came when he was ambushed by armored men and carted off.

He was beaten, had his short person throw about like a rag doll and eventually was interrogated by the seeker in an attempt to gain answers as to why and how this whole mess started.

By the time he'd been freed, Hawke was long gone. To where? He did not know. Nor did he go looking. There was far too much interest in her for her dwarven friend to feel comfortable with. He would leave her be and hope she would survive long enough for them to meet again.

Varric had reentered the war for a short time before hard days of battle wore the dwarf down to near exhaustion.

He barely slept. He hardly ate. And surviving was starting to become a battle in itself.

Disease began to fester quickly as bodies piled up around Kirkwall and the surrounding area, rotting and becoming food for the vermin. If you weren't killed on the battle field, you may well die from the infections that seeped into open wounds, leaving them puss filled and poisonous.

This, unfortunately was something Varric was finding out the hard way.

What had been a tiny, unassuming cut gained in an unexpected early morning clash, began to turn bad within days.

The dwarf did what he could to stop it from deteriorating but he wasn't a healer and any and all attempts to treat the putrefying wound failed.

It was only a matter of days before the toxins took a hold and before Varric knew, his world was becoming blurring and unfocused as his body grew weak.

But still, he fought on. No, this would not be the end for him. His inbred dwarven pride screamed at him in protest every time he thought he'd finally had it.

He didn't know how he got there. He didn't even remember his journey there but Varric found himself propped up against a wall in the docks one morning. Or was it morning? The sky seemed to be forever ablaze now and he was never quite sure what time of day it was.

Most of the surrounding city was nothing but rumble, but the docks somehow had remained untouched by the constant fighting and was always bustling, be it with refugees and people desperately trying to board ships to escape to somewhere safe.

There was nowhere safe.

Varric felt a sickly smirk twitch at the corner of his lips. That was a rare occurrence nowadays. There wasn't much for the formally charismatic dwarf to joke about anymore and no one to share a jest with. The smirk that pulled at his chapped, weathered lips was one of bitterness and pity.

The fools giving everything they owned to escape by ship didn't seem to understand just how widespread the war was. No matter where they ran, they wouldn't get away. Not this time. This wasn't a blight.

His muscles finally giving in, Varric's short form slid down the wall, leaving him in a heap on the floor. His head began to feel light and his vision narrowed but still, he watched as men, women and children. Human, elf and dwarf all tried to scramble onto those last few remaining boats.

Loud cracks and explosions filled the air but Varric's ears were deaf by then. The venom from his infected wound was finally going to get its way and the merchant prince didn't have to strength to fight any longer.

His hazy thoughts turned to those he'd once called friends. Those he'd drank with and laughed with. Hawke and Aveline. The Guard captain had fallen fulfilling her sworn duty and even if she'd scared the piss out of him at one point in time, Varric had nothing put respect for her.

Fenris and Anders. Poles apart but both so very passionate. Varric mentally cursed the mage. He'd been the one to start all this. He was still shocked when he thought back to that night. Perhaps Fenris had been right all along...not that it matter to the slowly fading dwarf now.

Isabela and Merrill. Isabela had been surrendered to the Qunari years ago to keep the peace, but she still remained in his thoughts. She'd been a laugh and quite good company really. 

Daisy. He missed her too. Both were very far from him now. Just like Hawke and the others.

His breathing became shallow and he could feel his body shutting down. He'd soon be with his nug-humper of a brother and the rest of his ancestors. That wasn't particularly comforting if he was honest with himself but he knew the day would eventually come.

He was savoring his last few breaths when he felt a strange sensation overtake him and it took everything in the dwarven man to summon the last of his remaining strength to turn his head upward.

A shadow fell over him. A single man simply strolling through the panicking masses toward him, his gray robes bellowing in the fire tainted breeze. Everything else seemed to melt away around him and Varric found his blurry eyes focusing on only him.

It felt like an age to the weakened dwarf but eventually, the man with a great, gray beard, came to a stop before him, puffing on his pipe thoughtfully as he eyed him from under the rim of his gray hat.

The fact that the city was falling down around him didn't seem to faze him one bit as he gazed down at Varric, cocking his head slightly.

"This isn't how I'd expect to find one such as yourself, master dwarf." He commented, pipe smoke bellowing from his mouth as he spoke, a smirk playing his lips.

Somewhere deep down in Varric, he felt something bristle at the man's obvious amusement. He was preparing to shuffle off his mortal coil and there was this human... smirking at him!

"Oh piss off..." He wheezed out, his throat scratchy and dry. "This isn't a spectator sport."

"You're very right." The mysterious man agreed, tucking an arm behind his back and leaning down slightly. "It's not a spectator sport." And yet... he continued to stare. It was starting to tick Varric off something terrible.

"Can I help you?" He tried to spit, his voice breaking and his head beginning to pound.

"No." The man murmured with wide, blue eyes. "But I can help you, master dwarf."

"Leave me to die in peace." Varric replied irritably. Everyone else got a blade through their gullet and that was it. He had to get the slow, painful death, now being observed by a total stranger. Great. He figured it was some sort of punishment by the ancestors for what happened between him and Bartrand.

"Well if you don't want my help..." The stranger shrugged with one shoulder and stood straight again, not even flinching as a ball of fire came sailing down through the air and hit a ship full of people behind him. Their screams echoed in the warm air but still, the dwarf and the man did not break eye contact.

"How?" Varric asked weakly.

"Take my hand." The man smiled, stretching his hand out toward Varric. "And I will take you to a place where the war has been and gone."


	2. A town on a lake

Varric wasn't sure if he was sleeping, or if he's slipped into the fade where nothing and everything was what it seemed.

For long periods of time, blackness engulfed him, settling his body and mind. But occasionally, he would be stirred awake, catching glimpses of things around him.

The moment he'd taken the mysterious man's hand he'd fallen into a deep sleep-like state, only waking momentarily as he was passed from one man to another and carried onto a ship. His eyes had fallen closed after that and he slept again, surrounding by a warmth that he could not place. The pain in his body was no longer there but he was still unable to move.

His eyelids fluttered once again and his soundless world suddenly was filled with soft murmurs, Chants and verses that brought another wave of warmth. He caught sight of the old man again, his hat now gone and his long, gray hair hanging loose over his shoulders as his hands moved over Varric's tainted body. They seemed to be moving, swaying from side to side as if they were on a boat. The sound of waves crashing against wood only added to Varric's speculation before his eyelids grew heavy once more.

His eyes closed yet again and that next sleep seemed to last forever.

When he next woke, he was able to maintain consciousness far longer than before. He was being carried again, this time, on a stretcher. The sound of waves now replaced with sounds that were familiar and comforting to the dwarf. He could hear people. lots of people. People shouting, haggling, chatting and laughing. He was in some sort of market place. The smell of fish assaulted his nose and he scowled as best he could, his sore lips causing him discomfort.

"Get Bard..." He heard someone shout before he lost his grip his consciousness again.

-oOo-

Varric woke with a start, his whole body tensing in shock as a cold, damp cloth touched his forehead. Wincing with the sudden movement, he forced himself to relax once more and eyed the young girl dabbing his forehead warily.

"Well this is a first... Even for me." He joked lightly, his voice weak. "I'm never sick enough for someone to actual care for me."

"There's a first time for everything..." The girl smiled, her voice soft and comforting. "You were very unwell when you got here... How do you feel now?"

Varric frowned slightly as he mulled over his answer. He still felt weak. The infection had clearly been a bad one. But he was alive and...

"Where am I?" He breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You're in lake town." The girl answered him, dipping the cloth she'd been using to cool him into a bowl of water and wringing it out.

"Lake town?" Varric's eyes rolled toward the young girl, his honey coloured eyes studying her youthful face. "what's Lake town?"

The young girl gave a giggle and shrugged. "This is Lake town." And gently, she pressed the damp cloth to his forehead.

He lay silently for several moments, his brain searching for any and all possible locations that he'd heard of in the Free Marches called Lake town. He inhaled, his lips parting to speak when the door opened and a man strolled in, followed by a boy.

"Da!" The girl turned sharply and held out a hand to the man. He took it with a smile and kissed her hand before noticing Varric was awake.

"You've pulled through then. I'm not surprised." He said bluntly, his voice even if not a little cold. "Your kind seem to be able to take a fair bit before finally giving up the ghost."

Varric wasn't particularly sure what this guy's problem was, but he clearly had one and it seemed to be directed toward the dwarves. He stayed quiet as the man turned from him and his daughter and pulled off his worn old coat.

"Now you're awake, we can get you up and on your feet." He muttered and tossed his coat aside.

"I don't think he'll be able to walk all the way to Erebor yet da." The girl argued, her eyes glancing between Varric and her father. "The infection was bad. Gandalf said he nearly died on the boat rid-..."

"I don't care what the old wizard said." The man said firmly, pausing to eye Varric. "If he need's care, he'll get it in the mountain. He's got more of a chance of receiving anything from Thorin than we have."

The girl sat in awkward silence then, worrying her lip between her teeth. The air in the room seemed to grow thick with tension in moments and Varric tried in vain to force his muscles to work. He needed out of this place. It was bad for him to be in such a strained atmosphere. This was why he lived in the hanged man. At his family's home he could cut the tension with a knife and drunken men and women always seemed merrier.

"I'll...I'll just..." He wheezed, trying to force himself up and failing miserably.

"No!" The girl gasped and gently placed her hands on his chest, lowing him back down onto the bed. Across the room, the man picked up a pipe and stood eyeing Varric as he pulled out a pouch of tobacco. "If you move you'll pull the stitches."

Stitches?

"I have stitches?" Varric croaked. The girl nodded, smiling at him sadly.

"You were covered in wounds, master dwarf. You had to be stitched." She explained, moving her hands from his chest. "The sailors tried their best on the way here. It was enough to keep you alive, along with Gandalf's magic, but you had to be restitched when you got here."

"It wasn't cheap either..." The man grumbled from across the room, smoke escaping from his parted lips as he spoke. To his right, his son was sat watching the whole scene silently.

"I'll...Have to buy you a drink when I...feel better..." Varric tried to grin, but only succeeded in opening the splits on his sore lips. The girl clicked her tongue as blood rose to the surface and Varric winced. He tried to suck his lip into his mouth to stem the bleed, but he quickly became aware his mouth was as dry as sandpaper. "W-water..." He groaned suddenly. "I need water..."

There was a bark of laughter across the room and the man stood, dark eyes twinkling in amusement.

"Your the first of your kinsmen to offer." He mused as he placed his pipe down and reached for a wooden pitcher on the long table in the center of the room. "Better than nothing I suppose." He poured a small cup and offered it to his daughter before turning to his boy. "Help him sit up while he drinks."

The boy nodded and stood, quickly rounding the table and crouching beside the bed. His arms carefully eased around Varric's shoulder and he gave a grunt as he tried to lift him. He may have been smaller than the lad, but like most dwarves, he was far more stocky and the boy's lean arms strained under the weight of muscle and heavy bones.

"Here..." The girl hissed out a breath and helped her brother sit Varric up. The clumsy attempt left Varric moaning in pain, his whole body throbbing. "Sip this." The girl smiled apologetically and pressed the cup to his lips.

Varric didn't need to make too much of an effort to drink. The girl tilted the cup just enough that the cool water ran into his mouth and all he needed to do was swallow. Something of which he did greedily.

He drained the cup and sighed happily as the girl moved the cup and set it down beside the bed.

"Much better." He breathed, his eyes closing in satisfaction. "Now it doesn't feel like I've been licking the floor of the hanged man."

"What's the hanged man?" The boy asked, his brows knitting together.

Varric was just about to answer. He was about to tell the lad he'd find out when his first chin hairs had begun to peep through and he was old enough to handle a small tankard of ale but the boys father cut him off.

"I suppose I should apologize." The man said, coming to stand behind his daughter beside the bed. "I didn't mean to snap earlier."

"It's alright." Varric tried to wave it off, but his hand simply didn't want to move and he ended up just twitching his fingers.

"No, its not." The man insisted. He huffed out a breath and crossed his arms over his chest. "My troubles with your king aren't your fault."

"He's not my king..." Varric interrupted, assuming they were talking about Bhelen Aeducan. The man's eyebrows shot up toward his hairline and he spared a glance to his stunned children. "I wasn't even born there...why would he be my king?"

The man opened his mouth and closed it a few times, seemingly lost for words.

"Er...well...We'll have you taken there anyway...perhaps Thorin will help you back to your home."

Thorin?

"Who?" Varric frowned.

The four sat in silence for several moments, everyone very confused and wondering if someone else had the wrong end of the stick.

"Da!" The front door unexpectedly swung open and everyone inside the house jumped.

"Tilda..." The man breathed in relief. He held out his hand and the young girl dropped her bag onto the table after closing the door. She quickly headed around the table and took her father's hand, cuddling into his side. She smiled brightly, her eyes turning toward her brother and sister and Varric on the bed.

When she spotted the dwarf, her smile dropped and her bright eyes grew wide.

"Da!" She gasped. "Its another one! Another dwarf!"

"Aye darlin'. This is...er..." He turned to Varric, his eyes narrowing. "I didn't catch your name, master dwarf."

"I didn't give it." He tried to answer back smugly, but only managed to sound awkward. "Its Varric. Of house Tethras."

"Well Varric." The man nodded. "I am Bard. These are my daughters, Sigrid and Tilda and my lad, Bain."


End file.
